


A Count of Years

by ambiguously



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Getting Together, M/M, Obsession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-03-17 17:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18969526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/pseuds/ambiguously
Summary: Obi-Wan watches Luke grow.





	A Count of Years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurae/gifts).



The boy is five years old when Obi-Wan spies him at Tosche Station.

He's kept away from the family. Owen Lars suspects Obi-Wan killed Anakin, and Beru is worried that Obi-Wan will pop up out of the dunes one day and steal away the baby he gave her. He can't change either mind, and has instead chosen distance, as one stays far from a wild bantha to prove he is no threat. Despite this, he recognizes Beru the moment he sees her, and he could recognize the child in a dark room on the opposite side of the planet. The Force glitters inside him, a shimmer few can see.

"Hi," says the boy, shy beside the woman who has acted as his only mother. His hair is the color of the sand, the same color as Anakin's hair was the day Qui-Gon brought him aboard their borrowed ship and announced he was coming with them to Coruscant. Luke's face bears much of the same contour, and his eyes are just as blue. It's like seeing a tiny ghost of the child Obi-Wan knew, and loved, and failed.

"Hello there," he says, past the sudden hurt in his throat.

Beru's gaze is kinder than her husband's has ever been to him, but also more fierce. "Did you need something?"

"I came for supplies," he says. "I won't disturb you further." He nods to her politely, and offers a sad smile to the child beside her.

"Who's that?" Luke asks, and Obi-Wan doesn't hear her reply.

***

The boy is seven years old when they meet again, almost in the same spot.

He's come with his uncle this time. Owen is haggling with the repair shop over the price of a part. Luke has a few credits clutched in his hand, and is carefully pulling down boxes from their shelves in the depot. He can't reach the high ones. Obi-Wan breaks from his contemplation and retrieves the two Luke wants.

"Here you go."

"Thank you," Luke says, in the forced politeness of children.

"You're welcome, Luke."

Luke grins. "You know my name?"

Obi-Wan feels the smile slide across his own face in return. "Of course. My name's Ben." It's an old nickname, one from a childhood he's tried to forget. Dead friends named him, and he can grant them this small memorial in his exile. He sees the boy in front of him, and hears the voices of the fallen. Everything is an ache. "How do you do, Luke?"

Another grin, this one more shy. "I gotta go." He takes his packages and heads to the front to pay for them. Obi-Wan doesn't follow, and he's careful not to look like he's watching. He is always watching.

***

The boy is eleven years old when Obi-Wan finds him out in the Wastes.

He and another boy borrowed a swoop bike from the other boy's brother, and crashed it. The sharp spike of pain pulls Obi-Wan from his meditation, calling him like a beacon across the rocky landscape. His search takes the better part of an hour, but would have taken anyone else days. Luke's friend is unconscious. Luke has a fractured arm.

"Hello," Obi-Wan says, as kindly as he can when he finds them at last. "You seem to be in some trouble."

Luke's head snaps up from where he'd been drifting off, shock ready to finish the work the crash had started. "Help," he says. His mouth is dry and he's frightened. "Ben?"

Obi-Wan bends down beside him. "It's all right. I'm here now." He takes hold of Luke's trembling arm, and with a ginger prod, he lets the Force flow into the bone, holding it in place. "There."

"What did you do?"

"Only made you well enough to travel." He turned to the other boy, resting his hand on the poor child's forehead. Concussion is nothing to brush off, but a quick probe tells him there's no severe damage. He lifts the boy into his arms. "This way." He sets off, trusting Luke to follow.

The dewback is close by. She came at Obi-Wan's call, and she waits for him to whisper at her with a gentle urgency before she agrees to let him bring the boys onto her back. Luke holds tightly onto Obi-Wan's robe with his good arm, trembling with nerves at the animal's strength.

"Don't be afraid. She likes you."

The dewback's steps are steady. She takes them back to Obi-Wan's dwelling without any guidance, and kneels for them to easily climb down from her back. "Thank you, my friend," Obi-Wan murmurs to her in the desert language, and she snuffles against his ear before she lumbers into the growing darkness.

"It's too dark for you to go," he says. "And I must tend to your friend."

Inside, he lights more lamps than he would if he were alone. This seems to comfort Luke. Obi-Wan lays the unconscious child on his own bed, and checks him for other injuries. He has only scrapes, which are easily tended with bacta patches from his emergency medpac. Obi-Wan reaches out with his mind, delving into the boy's thoughts while Luke watches, wide-eyed in curiosity but unafraid. He doesn't have the healing gift but he can nudge the child's thoughts and awaken the neurons which will facilitate faster recovery.

Obi-Wan turns to Luke. "He's only asleep. We'll let him rest. Let me see to your arm."

Luke obediently swallows two pain tablets from the medpac. "What did you do out there?"

"A little trick I know." He checked the bone, but the Force had kept it in place, and a splint was simple. "That should do until you get to a doctor. Now, you should contact your aunt and uncle and let them know the two of you are safe." He digs out his old communications system. "I'm afraid this doesn't work very well."

"Let me look," Luke says, opening the panel with his good hand. He takes a long look at the wiring inside. "Your connectors are loose. If you move this wire to this relay, it'll work better."

Obi-Wan looks at him in private wonder. Anakin could always do that, could glance at some bit of broken machinery and instantly know the problem, and typically the solution as well. Luke doesn't know how unusual he is. "Thank you. Show me what you mean." Within minutes, the comm is working better than it has in years.

"It's too dark to travel," he says to Owen Lars, picturing the scowl on the man's face at the other end of the connection. "The boys are safe with me tonight. I'll bring them home at first light."

He's never had company in his small home. He finds extra bowls and warms some soup. "Drink up. You were out in the wastes without water. Not the wisest choice, my young friend."

"We weren't going to be out long." Luke drinks all his soup, and accepts a second bowlful. "We're going to be in so much trouble when we get home." The realization makes his whole body slump.

"That's very likely."

"Maybe we could live here with you." His face grows hopeful.

For one third of one second, Obi-Wan pictures it. Luke is almost as young as Anakin was. He could start over with this child, teach him properly in his powers and make up for the mistakes he'd made with the boy's father. It's a nice third of a second. "No. You're going home tomorrow."

Luke's face crumples in defeat, but he doesn't argue.

After supper, Luke makes himself at home, poking at Obi-Wan's few possessions, asking questions, like, "What's this?" and "Where did you get it?" He's a fountain of questions, and his presence enlivens Obi-Wan's spirit like water in the desert. He didn't know he was lonely. Now with the boy here, his solitude is oppressive both by its absence, and by its dark promise to return as soon as Luke is gone.

Luke's curious wandering finds the deck of cards, and he challenges Obi-Wan to a card game. Luke doesn't know the rules for sabacc, and Obi-Wan doesn't remember them. They make something up between them, half Queens and Fools, half Seven Bluff, and they gamble for the shiny stones Obi-Wan keeps in a shallow bowl as a meditative aid. Luke chatters about his friends, about school, about his aunt and uncle and the farm and the ships he wants to fly someday. He's comfortable around Obi-Wan, no longer afraid of the future, or the grounding he's sure to get when he goes home. Obi-Wan can't help the flashes of memory: Anakin at this age grinning, talking about the projects he was tinkering with, chatting about his friends, and scamming Obi-Wan out of all his pebbles.

At last, Obi-Wan notes the boy's drooping head and feigns fatigue of his own to convince Luke to go to bed. He pads all the spare blankets he owns on the floor next to the bed where the other child rests. Luke settles to sleep obediently, but twitches and rolls, alive and restless even as he dreams. Obi-Wan watches him, remaining awake for hours.

***

The boy is fourteen before Obi-Wan sees him again.

Owen Lars wasn't pleased about his help, although he grudgingly admitted Old Ben likely saved the boys' lives. He'll have kept Luke far away from the mad hermit's view, first with the grounding, then with care. The one thing Obi-Wan is certain of is that Owen and his wife love Luke like their own son, and want to protect him from the bitter road Anakin walked. What he cannot express to them is that he loves Luke just as much, and his only motivation for the rest of his life is to keep Luke safe from Anakin's mistakes.

He looks more like his father every time.

Luke is at Anchorhead, spending time with his gaggle of young friends. Obi-Wan recognizes the other boy he saved, and he vaguely knows the faces and names of the others in Luke's group. Their parents all view mad old Ben Kenobi with the same distrust that Owen does, though without his reasons. Lars knows what he is, and he knows what trouble a wanted Jedi could bring down on their heads for harboring him. The rest think he's some eccentric fool, out in the Jundland Wastes on a speck of land that won't bring him a single drop of moisture, shouting at invisible spirits. Those are both true: his farm isn't a farm but merely a refuge, and he began shouting at Qui-Gon's spirit after his old master's ghost turned from him and stopped replying.

Most of the youths step away from Obi-Wan, give him space, and keep an eye on the crazy old man their parents warned them about. Even the other boy, the one who would have died, watches him warily as he passes by. Luke grins at him. "Hi, Ben." He's elbowed and shushed by a girl beside him.

Obi-Wan gives him a polite nod. "Good day to you." He doesn't stop to chat. The companionship of peers is a vital part of a boy's growth, and the last thing he wants is to interrupt that by marking Luke as different. He passes on.

An hour later, his bundle of supplies ready for transport, he senses Luke coming up to him. He turns, heart leaping for one moment as Anakin's eyes meet his, and Anakin's tremulous adolescent voice says, "Hi."

The other teens are elsewhere. They're not alone, but they are unobserved. "Hello, Luke. How are you?"

"I'm fine. I don't know if I ever said thanks for finding us out there." He bites his lip. "How did you find us? I thought about it later when we went back for the bike. I didn't get a distress signal sent. The comm was too damaged." His gaze is clear, and he has questions in his eyes.

Obi-Wan gives him a pleasant smile. There are truths and there are truths. Luke is too young for all the truths about his own past. "I happened to be out. I heard you calling for help."

Luke won't be pushed off so easily. "Out riding a wild dewback?"

"Out on my own affairs. Don't look into them too deeply, Luke Lars. Just be glad I happened to be around."

Luke's grin drops. "Skywalker. My name isn't Lars." He sees the quickly-hidden surprise on Obi-Wan's face. "You didn't know?"

After all this time, no, he didn't. He assumed Owen and his wife would give the child their name. He assumed Luke would live safely hidden with a different family name stamped on all his records. "My apologies." He hefts his purchases. "Have a good day, Luke Skywalker."

"Wait," Luke says, but Obi-Wan's steps are deceptively quick. They named him Skywalker. Obi-Wan has been foolish. He should have said more to them. He should have impressed on them the need for secrecy. He curses himself as he heads back towards his home, only calming as he reaches the door.

It's been fourteen years. Anakin, or the dark beast that hefts his dead carcass inside the black suit, has never returned to Tatooine. He has not made inquiries about his stepbrother, for good or ill, has not searched for the name Skywalker in the records banks for the outpost, the birth announcements, the school. Owen and his wife played a risky hand without knowing the stakes, but the risk has not cost them. Luke is safe.

***

The boy is fifteen when he finds his way back to Obi-Wan's doorstep.

His eyes are hooded, and his jaw is set. "Uncle Owen told me to stay away from you."

"He wants you to be safe," Obi-Wan says, but he stands aside and lets the boy into the cool interior of his home, out of the blazing sun. "Is that the reason you came?"

"I wanted to know why he thinks you're dangerous. I don't think you're dangerous," he adds, with all the self-assurance of adolescence.

There's so much he longs to tell this boy, who glances around his home with wiser eyes than he did four years ago, his gaze settling on the bowl of stones. Anakin's lightsaber is stored away even from Obi-Wan's longing eyes. Perhaps the time has come to show him, to offer Luke pieces of the truth.

"What does your aunt think?"

"That you're going to take me away."

Obi-Wan looks at him in astonishment. "She told you that?"

Luke shakes his head. "But I know it. The time you brought me back from the Wastes, it was all she could think about."

"You know what she's thinking?"

He shrugs. "I know what she's like. Uncle Owen thinks you're going to get me killed. Aunt Beru thinks you're going to pull me away from here, from her, and she'll never see me again. I'm not supposed to come see you. I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"And yet here you are."

Another shrug, this one more apologetic. "I got mad. I didn't know where else to go."

The boy rides his emotions like a dust devil, swirling and hitching. Had Obi-Wan taken him to train as an infant, he might have taught Luke control. The past is the past, now and forever, and Luke has grown up in a household where loving words and angry words are as much a part of his inner landscape as the sand is outside. Like his father. Perhaps even more like his mother.

"You're welcome to stay, but you should at least tell your family where you've gone. They care about you. They'll want to know where you are."

"They won't like it that I'm here."

"That's the reason you came."

Luke doesn't argue. He sets up Obi-Wan's comm again, and signals the homestead to let his family know he's all right.

The cards are stored in the same place as before. Luke knows more card games this time, and Obi-Wan scratches through his memories for others. It's not long before they're both making up rules and inventing exceptions for wildcards. The pebbles pass back and forth between them.

"You know something about me," Luke says after playing for hours.

"I know many things about you. I know you should go home." They both glance to the window, but the light is fading and if coming this far out during the day was unsafe, traveling back by night is suicidal. "But not until morning."

"You're not from Tatooine," Luke says, pushing forward a small pile of stones for his bet. "How long have you lived here?"

"Quite a while. I like the solitude. The Core Worlds can be so demanding." Obi-Wan meets his bet, although he's been distracted by a blond curl at Luke's ear and he missed the last rule change. He doesn't know if he's holding a winning hand, or if he's already lost.

"You're from the Core?"

"I'm from a lot of places. I traveled extensively in my younger days."

Luke sits back, cards forgotten. "I want to travel. I can't imagine just settling here for the rest of my life. What's it like out there?"

He recalls the sparkle of laser blasts, and the shimmer of Separatist ships evaporating. He remembers the icy-white pinpricks of the stars, and the wild blue of hyperspace, and the green flare of lightsabers clashing, the warmth of Anakin's padawan when she smiled, and the glimmer in Anakin's eyes.

"Beautiful."

He sets up the blankets on the floor for Luke the same as he did the last time he spent the night. Without the pain medication he took before, Luke is still wide awake as he settles. "Where did you travel?"

"All over. I was a bit of a vagabond."

"What was your favorite planet? Did you ever go to Coruscant?"

All his early memories are of Coruscant, the tall buildings, the crush of minds surrounding him, and the serenity of the Temple. His last memories of Coruscant are of bodies staining the sacred floor with their blood, youngling and oldster fallen together, and Padmé's tear-stricken face. "I spent some time there, yes. The loveliest world was Felucia, I think. I've never seen the same riot of colors, bold and huge, towering over our heads."

"Were you there with friends?"

"Yes."

"Are they still there?"

Anakin, screaming in hatred and pain. Ahsoka, reported dead on Mandalore. Cody, lost to the orders inside his skull. "They're all gone now, I'm afraid."

"Sorry," Luke says. "So why did you come all the way out here?"

"As I said, I like the quiet. You should sleep," he adds, and pushes the command with his mind. Luke closes his eyes and within a minute, breathes the deep, snorting breaths of slumber. He even snores like his father did. Anakin's bedroll lay beside Obi-Wan's on a dozen trips, hundreds, and he remembers every one.

Just as he did back then, Obi-Wan remains awake far into the night listening to the sound of the boy moving in his sleep, and muttering in his dreams.

***

The boy is seventeen when Obi-Wan breaks.

Maul is at rest after a long, terrible life, his body cooling beneath the sands. None shall disturb him, not the scavengers, not the curious. His last steps may have been guided here by a boy who should never have set foot on this planet, but his destiny was written long ago. All their destinies were.

Maul is dead and the boy is gone, but today Luke has come closer than he can ever know to discovery. This is intolerable, terrifying. Obi-Wan has sacrificed the last seventeen years of his life to a careful, distant protection of his one last hope. He's kept watch, forcing himself to stay at arm's end and not interfere with Luke's development. If taking Anakin away from this desert refuge was the mistake, if training him in the full use and knowledge of his gifts was what doomed them, then giving his son back to the sand and allowing him to branch unpruned like a terna vine must surely be their salvation.

Too many nights he's considered this, and come to the conclusion that his reputation as a madman may have some bearing in fact.

It's madness to pin the hopes of the whole galaxy on a boy hardly old enough to have his piloting license. It's worse to look at him beside the other child Obi-Wan met today, and to realize that even this half-trained padawan knows far more about the Force than Luke does due to the choices Obi-Wan has made.

The same madness must be what guides him towards the homestead, to take his watch from so close while Luke runs inside at his aunt's call. Obi-Wan's eyes follow him, noting the smooth motion of his limbs, unknowingly guided by something he doesn't understand. He's as wild as his father could have been, his heart unencumbered yet yearning for more. Even from this distance, Obi-Wan can tell his face is a reflection of Anakin's, growing soon into manhood.

It's a wretched thing to be mad.

All the homes out here have secure locks and stout doors to keep out raiders. The sand people have no friends among the sparsely-scattered families, and certainly not at the Lars homestead. Wanderers are few, and beggars non-existent. Maul would have hacked the door down with his red blade, demanding entrance and striking down any who stood against him. Obi-Wan waits until the last of the lamps have long since been dimmed, then opens the locks with a wave of his hand.

Luke sleeps restlessly in his own bed. He's stripped down to his shorts, and the covers are thrown wide.

Obi-Wan told the other boy that he didn't belong here, but Obi-Wan is the one who doesn't belong, who shouldn't stand as a silent shadow against one wall of Luke's bedroom. He told himself he would keep his distance. He promised the dead that he would not interfere. He believed when he first met Padmé's squalling infant that he would ever only feel a parental concern for him, if that.

He was so very mistaken.

The wind is calm outside after the storm earlier in the day. A clear night with cold, distant stars to shine over Maul's settling grave and guide the other child back to his own home, but a night such as this deserves the howl of sand abrading the walls, screaming at the terrible and terrifying emotions roiling inside Obi-Wan's soul as he watches Luke. The night is cold but he is made of fire, burning in a dark flame beside the boy's bed. Desires are the path to darkness, and Obi-Wan is falling.

Maul threatened Luke, and Obi-Wan knew. There is nothing in this galaxy he won't give for this boy, won't do for him, won't do with him. His imagination, dam broken by this revelation, plays images before his eyes of the two of them, entwined and writhing in forbidden union.

Obi-Wan is a Jedi. Luke is still a child, the son of his closest friend. All of this is wrong.

He manages restraint, this once. He stands in the shadow, observing every breath, his eyes tracing the movement of each twitching, sleeping muscle. He remembers watching Anakin sleep, remembers the shameful stir of his own desire. He remembers placing a calming hand against his soleus, feeling the strength in his legs, refusing the urge to slide his grip up between them.

He stands. He watches. The stars wheel overhead, and the dead have long since abandoned him. After hours of this torture, he hears the stirring of the sand crickets, emerging from their burrows to catch the taste of the dew before the suns rise.

The muscle on Luke's leg is warm and firm. It is the only stolen touch Obi-Wan permits himself before he slips out of the boy's room like a restless spirit.

The dewback carries him home as the horizon lightens, and crosses the final ridge at the same moment as the first beam of harsh light. Obi-Wan thanks her for her service with a drink of precious water. Then he steps into the cool darkness of his solitary home.

He is not hurried in his movements. His outer robe is brushed to keep the sand from spreading, then hung on its peg. He removes and cleans his boots for the same purpose. He refills his canteen with conscientious care; a man who rushes out later with an empty canteen is a dead man. There is no reason to alter his careful routines.

After he is finished his rituals for coming home, he removes his clothes, again with all due purpose, hanging the garments to air. He'll get another two uses before he'll need to scrub them.

His hands find the spare blankets, and his nose tells them they still carry a whiff of Luke's scent from the last time they were used. He spreads them on the floor before kneeling. He closes his eyes, and takes himself in hand. Long years and hard work have coarsened his palms and given him calluses on his fingertips. The rough slide of his hand against his own sensitive flesh is suitably painful, punishment for the images burning behind his eyelids, the memory of Luke's sleeping body, twitching in his dreams as Obi-Wan slides into the bed next to him, touch roaming over his hot skin.

He pauses only long enough to gob a gram of spit into his hand, and the wet is the same as the wet he applies in his fantasy before sliding into gripping heat. Obi-Wan groans, but he hears Luke's moan as he somehow stays asleep, hips bucking at the thick intrusion, unaware of his lover.

Obi-Wan wants to kiss him, and in a fantasy, this is simple, his mouth covering the boy's with a sweet press of lips while he jerks into him faster.

Anakin always sighed when he came, attempting to remain silent as he explored himself in the bedroll next to where he thought his master slept. Obi-Wan always allowed him this privacy, never speaking of it in the daylight, but daylight would never look upon this, and Luke sighs with his father's voice as Obi-Wan spills into him, onto his own hand, onto the blanket that still smells of Luke, alone in his room.

He tugs on himself far past pain and sensitivity, pulling out another weak dribble of semen, and he imagines Luke licking it from his hand.

This is madness. He cannot go back.

***

The boy is nineteen when the droids come.

Obi-Wan hasn't seen this pair in Luke's lifetime. R2 informs him there's no use talking to C-3PO after all the memory wipes. If he has an opinion about his current owner, who shares his former master's family name and looks just like him, he's not sharing it for the moment, and a few minutes later, Obi-Wan understands why. The girl in the hologram can't be anyone except Bail's daughter. The past hangs thick in this room as Luke watches, shocked and unknowing, chewing over the crumbs Obi-Wan has already given him about his father.

He must choose the crusts he offers the boy as carefully as he can. Luke likes him. He trusts him. He has no need yet to know what Anakin has become, nor the truth about the girl whose recorded plea he came here to unravel. R2 hasn't said anything, and doesn't seem inclined to start. Obi-Wan doesn't know if Bail had him reprogrammed, or if this is just another one of the astromech's surly snits like in the old days.

He's been avoiding this argument with Owen and Beru for nineteen years. He's told himself it was prudence, but the coward's way has saved him. Owen will never argue with anyone ever again. Beru won't be able to ask him to keep Luke safe, but she never would have had to. Obi-Wan will do anything for Luke.

Perhaps this is written more clearly on his face than he wants. The smuggler who sells them passage aboard his ship can tell, his smirk covering nothing. Money is money, and Solo will happily take payment from some damp-palmed old man desperate to get a naive, trusting, impatient boy away from a small-minded backwater like Tatooine and off to a decadent Core planet. The new pilot gives Luke a quick glance, already picturing him in tight, shimmering garb that hints as much as it reveals, and he accepts the terms.

The ship has seen a number of redesigns over the years. Even Obi-Wan, who always thought of starships as necessary transport rather than the near living beings Anakin treated them as, notes the touches in the common area, and in the cabin they've been given.

Luke doesn't have the same eye. "This ship really is kind of a mess, huh?"

"I've traveled in worse." He tries not to remember those. He's been a prisoner many times. Bunking with Luke will be a far more pleasant hell. He'll have to remain awake, that's all, and avoid any chance of his sleeping body betraying him with Luke right there. Alderaan is two days' travel from here. Everything will be fine when they reach Alderaan.

He should stay awake. He must stay awake.

But he's so tired.

He wakes to arms holding him, and to the gentlest rocking of the bunk as Luke moves against him in his sleep. Even this is enough for Obi-Wan, more than enough. His own best intentions shatter with the shame of the hard mass between his legs straining against his robes. He has to slip free of Luke's unknowing hold, has to find his way to the 'fresher, has to deal with this before he makes things far worse.

"Ben," says the whisper in his ear, and the movement jerks against him harder.

It's a dream, that's all. Luke has been through a terrible loss, and his mind is fleeing to any comfort he can find. Obi-Wan slides his shoulders away, but finds they're locked in place as Luke clings to him.

"Please," comes the soft word into his back. Obi-Wan turns his head to see Luke's open eyes. "Please, Ben," and Obi-Wan cannot deny him anything. He shifts his body to face him. Luke kisses him with desperation.

There's not time now, not with Luke's breath this short and his body this taut on the edge. Obi-Wan reaches between them, and presses the heel of his hand firmly against the bulge in Luke's trousers. Keeping their gazes locked, he grinds with firm pressure, stroking under the cloth until Luke shudders all over and heaves a deep sigh, which Obi-Wan kisses out of his mouth.

There will be room for words about this later, and Obi-Wan has more things to tell him about his father, far more. But as Luke gets his breath back, he reaches for him again already, quick with the eagerness of youth. His lips smile under Obi-Wan's, and his hands are as clever as Anakin's ever were.

The boy is nineteen, and their new life together has just begun.


End file.
